


your soul cries out (our hands are tied)

by thisissirius (thirteentorafters)



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Denial, Friends to Lovers, Imprinting, M/M, Soul Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 08:47:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17138675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thirteentorafters/pseuds/thisissirius
Summary: Imprints, often cited by scholars as the dirty little secret of the League, are quickly acknowledged and shelved as something necessary by many teams, and while Chicago’s practices are slightly less alarming, there’s still the fact that should Kane and Toews have an Imprint, their rights within the NHL would be practically non-existent.





	your soul cries out (our hands are tied)

**Author's Note:**

> **note;** my artist is the wonderful hippietoews and deserves ALL THE KUDOS for making me a fanmix with only 8k to work with. i failed! YOU ARE WONDERFUL AND THE MIX IS GREAT GO HERE: [SAY HOW AWESOME IT IS](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17008533).
> 
> (i had a beta who could not help me because of my failings, so all mistakes are my own. and will be edited. boxing day. oops.)
> 
> this is not the fic i wanted to write. mostly because i wrote 10k in two days dhjsahjlsd.
> 
> i had huge deadlines that interfered and i changed my story idea a bajillion times.
> 
> i hope this story feels complete. there are scenes that didn't make the cut because they didn't work or i just didn't feel them, and i might end up sharing more stories in this verse.
> 
> for now this is just.... what i have. i always have trouble accepting my writing, so i'll be panicking about this for days. it's not... what i wanted, but it'll do 
> 
>  
> 
> :)

It starts with Jackie.

Patrick’s twelve the first time she Imprints. It’s something he knows about, in the way kids find out how sex works and end up with a pile of pamphlets they never read, but he’s been too busy with hockey to really care that it’s something that actually happens to people.

He comes home from a road trip to an armful of Jackie, who’s still a  _ baby _ , gushing about how a girl at school had touched her and she’s got a funny feeling in her stomach and isn’t he jealous? Patrick doesn’t know what it means, only that his mom is trying not to cry, his dad’s angry, and Erica and Jess are trying their hardest to stay out of the way.

“It’s a girl,” Jess whispers to him that first night, curled up next to him on the couch. They’re watching Dumbo for the fiftieth time because Jess is having an elephant phase.

Patrick’s chest does something funny and thinks that’s why his mom’s crying. Patrick appreciates his religion in the ways that he’s thankful for his family, knows that his family has been Catholic for years, and that his grandpa often thanks God for blessing Patrick with his gift of hockey. His mom is more devout and he knows that Father O’Malley wouldn’t be too keen on Jackie’s Imprint.

Both Patrick’s mom and dad spend his break ferrying Jackie and her Imprint – a girl called Beatriz – to the doctor. Words are thrown around like  _ early Imprint  _ and  _ false positive  _ and  _ preventative medication _ .

Patrick learns more than he ever wants to know about Imprints in those first few days. Furious whispers in the kitchen, his dad talking to doctors on the phone about the different meds they can put Jackie on, and his grandma coming to take Jackie to hers because she’ll be  _ safer _ or something. By the time he’s back to hockey, his dad looking tired and drawn when he drops him off, and how often his mom is still crying, Patrick’s adamant that he’s never – NEVER – going to Imprint.

That summer he meets Jonathan Toews.

  
  


Winnipeg is dumb.

It’s cold and stupid and in  _ Canada _ and Patrick wants to go home. He wants to see his sisters, even Jackie, who’s actually stopped being a brat since her medication’s evened out and his grandma let her come back home. He wants his mom and dad, wants to be back in Buffalo, where people speak properly and aren’t all polite and stupid.

“Not everybody in Canada is stupid, Patrick.”

Patrick’s buddy Derek is loud and funny and Patrick likes him, even if he is from Canada. He’s a good goalie, though he can’t stop any of Patrick’s pucks in practice. Not many people can. Patrick doesn’t have a big head or anything, but he knows he’s good at hockey; at least, that’s what he likes to think in his head and not out loud. The last time he remembers saying something out loud, Coach was mad, parents started yelling and his dad took him by the arm and marched him out of the rink. Patrick doesn’t play for them anymore.

So he tries to keep quiet.

Derek’s starting at the other end of the ice, where the team from Winnipeg –  _ Winterpeg _ , Patrick thinks viciously – are warming up. Patrick follows his gaze, shudders when he sees one of the boys, who’s wearing a 9 on his jersey. The kid is skating in loops and Patrick’s eyes narrow, an uncomfortable itch on the back of his neck, but he shakes it off. Whatever, he can’t get distracted. He needs to be in the zone.

“They are stupid,” Patrick says, picking the thread of the conversation back up.

Derek rolls his eyes but settles back in goal, talking to the pipes like they’re alive or something. Patrick leaves him to it, there’s nothing dumber than getting between a goalie and his net. He’s skating towards the bench when the 29 kid does another loop right in his path.

“Hey,” Patrick says.

The kid glares at him, which, whatever man. Patrick’s not the one skating wide loops and trying to run people over, okay?

“Sorry.” The kid draws up to stop against the board, staring at Patrick intently.

Patrick wants to move past him, get back to the bench, but the kid isn’t moving. Patrick isn’t either, actually.

“I’m Patrick,” Patrick says abruptly.

“Jonathan,” the kid shoots back, shrugging. “Jonny.”

Patrick snorts. “Jonathan Jonny? That’s a dumb name.”

Jonny looks constipated, like he wants to be angry but can’t stop smiling instead. Patrick doesn’t understand why, only knows he’s grinning like an idiot too and though he tries to glare instead, it doesn’t really work. 

“Patrick!” Derek’s finished communing with his pipes and is waving at Patrick.

Patrick rolls his eyes and gives Jonny one last long look and shrugs, nudging Jonny with a gloved hand. “Hope you win.”

Jonny looks startled, but his face clears quickly and grinning, he says, “Yeah, you too.”

It’s not until he’s back on the bench, finally getting in to the zone, that Patrick realizes what he’s done and mentally kicks himself. Why the fuck does he wants Jonny to win?

And why is Jonny wanting the same thing for him?

  
  


When Jonny comes to play for the Junior Flyers, Patrick pretends to hate it.

He walks into the locker room and Patrick’s heart does a strange flip, like it does whenever he scores a goal or makes his Grandpa proud. It’s dumb, it’s just  _ Jonny _ who’s Canadian and serious and doesn’t speak much – unless it’s to tell Patrick he can’t score goals properly.

Excuse him, Patrick’s scoring better than his.

Patrick likes having him around, even if it’s to yell at him when he doesn’t pass Patrick pucks, gets in his way on the ice, or isn’t paying attention to him.

“Patrick,” Jonny says one day, hovering above him in the locker room.

Patrick’s staring down at his sneakers. He doesn’t want to go home. Erica’s moody, his parents are arguing a lot with his grandparents, and Jess isn’t talking to him. “What?”

Sitting down next to him, Jonny looks awkward, hands on his knees and staring at the side of Patrick’s head. He’s so weird, always glaring, like he’s annoyed at everyone and doesn’t know how to handle it.

“You’re not gonna cry, are you?”

“Shut up, no,” Patrick snaps. He wants to swear. Derek’s been saying  _ fuck _ a lot lately and Patrick likes the way it sounds. It makes his mom mad though. His eyes are burning, and he thinks maybe he’ll cry if it’s anyone but Jonny, who makes him mad enough to stop himself.

“I’m sorry,” Jonny says.

“Why?”

“Because,” Jonny says, sounding stubborn. When Patrick looks up at him, he’s giving Patrick a strange smile, wide, like he can’t help it. “It helps to hear it though, right?”

Patrick shrugs. Jonny’s weirdly insistent and sincere. “I guess.”

“Well than,” Jonny settles back, triumphant and looking smug.

Confused, Patrick shrugs, and wants to tell Jonny to get lost, but instead he blurts out, “I don’t wanna go home.”

Jonny’s face falls. “Why?”

“My sister Imprinted again.” Patrick can see the confusion on Jonny’s face and sighs. “She’s on medication because she’s young or something, I don’t know, but she’s done this before only this time it’s to another girl and she’s making everything miserable!”

“She probably doesn’t mean to,” Jonny says slowly. He’s looking at his hands, frowning, and Patrick gets the urge to apologise, not that he’s going to. “Imprinting is an accident.”

“It’s dumb.” Patrick shakes his head, clenching his hands into fists. “I don’t know why you’d want to be stuck to someone like that. The doctors think it’s fake anyway.”

“False positive,” Jonny corrects, because he’s stupid. Or thinks he’s smarter than Patrick. Whatever, he’s definitely stupid. “’Cause she’s young. Hormones change. As someone’s biology changes, so do the Imprints.”

“Yeah, well, she’s ruining everything. Nobody’s happy anymore and I used to be so excited to go home, except Jess is mad at me because I yelled at Jackie.” Patrick sighs. He knows he’s being a brat – that’s what his mom calls him when he gets like this - but he can’t help it. “I just want things to go back to how they were.”

There’s silence from Jonny and Patrick wants to take it back. He’s going to have to get going soon, but before he can think about moving, Jonny throws his arms around him and holds on. He rests his chin on Patrick’s shoulder and it’s awkward, Jonny’s arms are too long and he’s cold, but Patrick instantly feels better.

“Thanks,” he says, voice muffled as he presses his face into Jonny’s shoulder. The fabric is warm and probably sweaty but Patrick doesn’t care. He’s trying not to cry. He’s not a baby.

“It will be okay,” Jonny says. He sounds positive. Patrick wonders if he’s going to force it to be okay if Patrick tells him it isn’t.

Patrick pulls away, wiping at his face. “Whatever, I need to go.”

“I’ll see you, Patrick.” Jonny looks intense.

“Duh,” Patrick says, grinning. The tightness in his chest isn’t terrible anymore and even the thought of facing Jackie isn’t annoying. “We still got games to play.”

 

**_From the journals of Mackay, Dr. H._ **

_ There have been numerous records of false positive results of an Imprint showing up in those under the age of fourteen. Research shows that adolescents with changing hormones are more inclined to display Imprint tendencies until they reach puberty, where their IDR hormone stabilizes and Imprint indications are genuine.   _

_ A dosage of 100MG of Aprinzan is recommended upon an adolescent bond to determine the validity of an Imprint. If Aprinzan is not applicable due to patient concerns, the adolescent’s physician should consult an Imprint-focused specialist for advice. _

  
  


Patrick’s sick a lot just before he’s due to play in the WJC.

It’s awesome to be a part of the USA development program and Patrick’s gonna be fucking awesome, but he can’t stop feeling like shit. It starts just after his fourteenth birthday and lasts a couple of years, on and off. Sometimes it feels like he’s dying or something. His parents take him to a bajillion doctors, none of whom seem to be able to tell Patrick what’s wrong. Some of them make noises about Imprinting, but when he’s sent to an Imprint specialist, they aren’t convinced, confused by some of his symptoms and by the fact that while there’s some hormonal changes, they fall within the purview of normal puberty changes. His readings are bizarre is what Patrick gets from it, not that he’s paying much attention because he’s playing with his Gameboy.

Though the doctors try to make Patrick go overseas to get checked out, apparently they have some awesome specialist, but Patrick point black refuses, especially when they start talking about cutting down his hockey. His dad gets pissed off at the thought that it will get in the way of the WJC and the draft. Patrick tries not to let it bother him because there are times when he’s fine, when the sickness isn’t as bad, and he can focus properly without feeling itchy and getting headaches that make him want to throw up.

Somehow, London still wants to draft him, even with his illness hanging over his hockey future like a dark cloud. Patrick’s illness made it into hockey circles somehow, and though he’s been afraid for months he’s not gonna get drafted, he goes 88th and ends up in London. He plays as much as he can given his illness, and with the WJC in his future, he’s desperate to get better.

Thankfully, he’s cleared for the WJC, which wouldn’t be a massive deal except that he’s gonna see Jonny again. It’s been ages since they’ve seen each other and it’s not like Patrick would usually care about things like that especially when Jonny has problems tenfold, but there’s something about him that sends a thrill up Patrick’s spine.

“I know you want this,” his mom says, expression worried. “But what if something happens to you?”

“I feel fine.” Patrick’s sat in the living room, propped up against a mountain of cushions, Nintendo controller balanced on his knees. “Mom, you know they won’t let me play if they think I’m sick.”

If Patrick’s dad was here, he’d step in, but he’s holed up in some hospital with Jackie who’s managed to Imprint  _ again _ . Honestly, Patrick thinks she should set up a room in the hospital to keep for herself if the amount of time she spends there is anything to go by. He doesn’t think his mom would appreciate hearing that.

“Mom,” he says, when she’s still lingering in the room five minutes later. He can’t concentrate if she’s just gonna keep staring at him. “I promise I’ll call if I think I’m getting sick. It’s hockey.”

It’s an excuse he’s been using for years;  _ it’s hockey _ when he was younger and wanted just one more hour on the ice.  _ It’s hockey _ when his mom worried, he wouldn’t cope so long away from home.  _ It’s hockey _ to himself when he was stuck in Detroit, his family miles away.

_ It’s hockey _ now he’s scared this sickness is gonna get in the way. He’s not about to say anything to his mom, but he’s worried this sickness is like, serious or something, especially after hearing his grandpa talking to his mom.

Finally, his mom sighs and runs a hand over his hair. He’s clearly too old for that but he lets her do it. She needs it more than he does. “Alright.”

Patrick turns back to his game, grateful when his mom leaves to go bother Erica and Jessica. The Nintendo loses its appeal now that Patrick’s thinking about his sickness again and ugh, the WJC can’t come soon enough.

Thankfully he doesn’t have long to wait, with Erica and Jessica both clambering to see him off when it comes time to fly out. Erica’s getting older, pretending she’s like, a young lady now or something and definitely causing their mom to scream a lot about coming home on time. Jessica is more laid back, always clutching a book or her phone and trying to get Patrick more invested in politics and history and whatever.

Patrick just wants to play hockey, he doesn’t have time for education.

“I’ll miss you,” Erica says, shades of her old self when she’d get upset about him leaving. She definitely looks teary eyed.

“He won’t be gone long,” Jessica says with a huff, though she looks upset.

Patrick’s not smug about his sisters being sad he’s leaving, especially because Jackie isn’t around. “Tell Jackie I’ll call her.”

“Sure,” Erica says easily. She darts a look to where their mom’s still loading up the car. Patrick’s not going for a month, but you’d think he was. “As long as dad lets her out of hospital.”

Jessica rolls her eyes. “If she didn’t keep Imprinting all the time.”

Patrick gets the sudden urge to defend the whole Imprinting thing and immediately shuts his mouth on whatever he would have said. Since when did he care about Imprints? Jackie pisses him off when she’s always being dramatic about her ‘unending suffering of the Imprints’ or whatever it is she’s crying about.

He knows she’s only twelve, but seriously.  

“Come on,” his mom says.

As soon as he’s in the car and his attention is off his sisters and onto the impending trip to Sweden, he’s thinking about hockey and America and  _ Jonny _ . 

  
  


The thing is, Patrick knows Jonny’s good at hockey.

He’s not blind, alright, and he was drafted to the Blackhawks, so he’s got some skills. Not as many as Patrick but enough to get drafted third overall. Patrick’s not in the habit of jinxing himself, but if there was some justice in the world, he’d at least go at the same – or maybe just one pick higher. Not that Patrick thinks he’s gonna get drafted that soon or anything. It’s a matter of principle. Jonny’s from Canada. Patrick needs to be able to match that.

“You know,” someone says from behind him, “You’re kinda blocking the doors.”

“Whatever,” Patrick bites out, because seriously, it’s an elevator it’s not like there’s no room. When he turns, his eyes widen a fraction because shit, that’s Jonny but he looks. Well. Different?

( _ Good _ .)

Jonny’s never smiled much in his life, Patrick’s certain, except for like the million times they’ve been hung out in the locker room. That’s actually the saddest thing he’s ever thought because who hangs out in a locker room? He’s smiling now though, wide and eye crinkly and Patrick hates himself for how quickly he grins in return. What the fuck?

“I didn’t think you’d show up,” Patrick says smoothly.

Jonny’s brow furrows, and there’s the constipated pissed off expression Patrick’s used to. “Why not?”

Laughing, Patrick nudges Jonny with his shoulder and actually tugs him into the elevator. “It’s a joke about how Canada’s gonna get  _ creamed _ .”

“Sure,” Jonny says with a roll of his eyes. He leans back against the elevator wall looking confident and at ease, but he’s clenching his hands into fists against his sides and he’s not looking Patrick in the eye. “Sweden  _ are _ pretty good this year.”

“Hey, fuck you.” Patrick socks him in the arm.

Glaring, Jonny punches him back. Patrick returns the favour until they’re in an impromptu wrestling match in the hotel elevator. Patrick can almost see the exasperated look on his mom’s face if she ever found out about this.

_ Patrick Kane, you are seventeen years old! _

Whatever. Jonny’s older and he’s still being a douche.

When they finally pull away from each other, breathing hard and grinning like idiots, Patrick feels better than he has for like, fifteen years. Alright maybe months, but the point stands.

“I haven’t seen you play much,” Jonny says, staring at the lights on the panel as they shift through floors.

Patrick definitely doesn’t wanna talk about it, but Jonny still looks weird and Patrick can’t put his finger on why, but he wants to make it better. “I’ve been sick.”

Jonny’s eyes immediately shoot to Patrick, his frown deeper and honestly, he needs to stop frowning or his face will stick that way. “What like, really sick?”

Huffing out a breath, Patrick shrugs. “Dunno. Doctors don’t know what’s wrong with me, but I’d go all like, tired and shaky, have rashes that wouldn’t go away, and headaches all the time. I dunno man, but it keeps happening.”

“Shit,” Jonny says.

Patrick’s eyes widen. “You curse?”

Jonny narrows his eyes. “I’m not repressed.”

“Uh-huh,” Patrick says, because it’s fun to rile him up.

They lapse into silence, but just as they’re getting to their floor, Jonny nudges him again. “You’re okay now though, right?”

“Duh.” Patrick sighs, shaking his head because there’s no need for Jonny to look concerned. Patrick’s not gonna  _ die _ . “I’m fine now, I can play.”

“I know you can,” Jonny says fiercely which, okay, weird. “That’s not–”

“There you are!” Gags is coming down the hall, grinning like an idiot and cutting off whatever Jonny was gonna say. “Thought you weren’t coming.”

Patrick snorts because as if. Sam saw him a couple of days ago and it’s not like Patrick’s in the habit of missing hockey if he can help it. It’s like he has to remind everyone he’s fine every ten seconds.  

“I need to kick your ass, don’t I?”

“Try it,” Jonny says, looking offended.

Gags’ eyebrows raise but he grins quickly, waving a hand in Jonny’s direction. “See? Now you can’t pretend like America’s better.”

“It is.” Patrick’s not sulking, he’s just stating facts. “Whatever, I’m gonna find the cool Americans to hang out with.”

“Why,” Jonny asks smoothly, “So you can see what life on the other side is like?”

There’s a pause and Patrick does not want to laugh but Jonny’s making jokes and grinning like he’s done the best fucking thing ever, and Patrick doesn’t know what this feeling is currently squeezing his chest but fuck it, Jonny’s  _ awesome _ .

  
  


Patrick’s draft day comes upon him so quickly he’s sick with it. 

Not like  _ hospital sick _ because he’s managed to go a year without that drama. He’s been scouted by plenty of NHL teams and even with his absence due to illness, he’s managed to rock up enough points that it doesn’t seem to have hurt his chances any.  He’s not sure if any of those teams are actually willing to take him on for sure, even when Jonny calls him and tells him that he’s asked Tallon to draft him.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, flopping onto his bed. He’s hanging off the side, blood rushing to his head. His mom’s gonna yell if she sees, so Patrick keeps his door closed so he knows when she’s coming. “You can’t go around asking people to draft me.” 

“Shut up,” Jonny says. He sounds distracted but gruff, like he can forcefully make Patrick agree with him. “He knows how good you are.”

Patrick knows enough about himself that it is, in fact, the truth. That doesn’t mean Patrick’s going to take it for granted. He knows anything can happen, especially if his body decides to give up the ghost and cause him more trouble. He also can’t let Jonny think he’s won. “Everyone’s gonna think I’m there ‘cause you asked for it.”

Jonny’s silent for long enough that Patrick thinks he’s hung up. He has to pull the phone away from his ear, scowl at it, and then say, “Jonny?”

“I’m here,” Jonny says. “I didn’t think about that.”

He sounds apologetic and angry all at once. Patrick rolls his eyes, thinks about what it means that Jonny wants him drafted enough that he’s gonna risk upsetting a team  _ he’s _ only just been drafted to. 

“Thanks,” Patrick says quietly. “I know you don’t have to and just - thanks.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says, and Patrick can hear the shrug. “You’re welcome.”

“Are you gonna,” he starts, and then doesn’t know how to finish. He and Jonny might have played each other a few times, might even be friends, but that doesn’t mean Jonny wants to come to the draft or anything like that. 

“Patrick,” Jonny says, sounding impossibly loud in the phone. Maybe that’s just wishful thinking on Patrick’s part, but he seems more intense. When did Jonny’s intensity become a good thing? Patrick makes a face at himself, but then forces himself to focus back on Jonny. “If you want me there, I’ll be there.”

Patrick doesn’t have long to wait; he’s so keyed up and nervous that he doesn’t care when his parents join him, Jackie tagging along, kittery but grinning wide. Patrick’s glad to see her. His parents are split, his mom next to Jackie and his dad next to him. Patrick’s nervous about the draft without his parents causing extra drama by arguing or moaning about Jackie.

**_I’m here._ ** Jonny’s an asshole, but he’s  _ here _ , so Patrick tells his parents he’ll be back - as if he’s going to miss his own draft - and jogs down the stairs, desperate to know where Jonny is. When he finds him, hovering awkwardly by the door. Patrick grins. 

“Wow, you brush up nice, who’d have thought.”

“Fuck off,” Jonny says, good naturedly, and though he looks supremely awkward, his mouth quirks up into a smile as his eyes run over Patrick. “You don’t look too bad yourself.”

Shoving his hands into his pockets because he’s still nervous, Patrick bumps his shoulder against Jonny’s, and then bobs his head in the direction of the seats. “I got you a seat next to me.”

“Duh,” Jonny says, eyes flickering over the gathered players and their families. Patrick knows he’s been through this before and wonders if he’s thinking about his own draft. “Don’t be nervous.”

It comes out more of an order than encouragement, and Patrick laughs easily, something about the familiarity of it easing the tension in his shoulders. “Sure.”

“You’re totally gonna draft close to third,” Jonny tells him, a shit-eating grin on his face. 

Patrick can’t even think about that right now, terrified that it’s going to be so much worse than that. He went 88th in the OHL draft. 

“Patrick,” Jonny says, halting him with a hand on his arm. They’re in the middle of the aisle, where everyone can see them, but Patrick’s focus narrows down to Jonny. He shrugs easily. 

“What if this is like the OHL and I’m sat here for hours.”

“Don’t be dumb,” Jonny says immediately. “If you’re not drafted first, I’ll fuck shit up.”

The thing about Jonny is that Patrick believes him. He always believes him. Jonny might be an ass 95% of the time, but he’s dedicated to whatever he puts his mind to. Patrick thinks that if anyone could bend the NHL to his will, it’s Jonny. 

Patrick doesn’t want Jonny to be able to make him feel better about this so easily. He figures it’s good to be a little bit scared of how things are going to go. He doesn’t wanna be one of those guys who thinks he’s the best at everything and knows it. His mama taught him better. Patrick hates himself that it works anyway, and he sighs, smiling stupidly as Jonny rolls his eyes and nudges him to keep walking. 

“Come on, let’s get you drafted.”

“Patrick,” his mom says when they get to Patrick’s seat, raising her eyebrows at Jonny. “Jonathan.”

Patrick cringes at his mom’s tone, but he just smiles widely at her. “Mom, you know Jonny.”

“Is there a reason he’s here?” Patrick’s dad asks, brow furrowed.

“Mr. Kane,” Jonny says immediately, holding out his hand. Patrick’s kinda proud of him for not being ruffled, just staring down Patrick’s dad until he has no option but to shake it. “Patrick’s told me a lot about you.”

Patrick’s dad make a face, like he’s not sure if that’s a good thing or not. Patrick’s not entirely sure himself, but he’s smiling widely anyway, hoping his sisters don’t choose now to be ridiculous.

“Jonathan,” Erica says, stressing each syllable. 

“You’re hot,” Jackie blurts, because she clearly has no filter. Jonny flushes, and stammers out a thanks. 

The hairs on the back of Patrick’s neck stand up on end and he has to dig his nails into his palm to keep from biting Jackie’s head off. 

“Patrick,” Jonny says, digging his elbow into Patrick’s side. Louder, he nods at each of Patrick’s sisters. “Ladies.”

“Ladies?” Patrick says immediately, raising his eyebrows.

“He’s being polite, Patrick,” Jessica says, looking unimpressed. “Pleased to meet you, Jonathan.”

“Jonny,” Jonny says immediately, then gets to Patrick’s mom. “Mrs. Kane.”

Patrick’s mom looks at him, her eyebrows raised, but Patrick doesn’t know what she wants from him. He needs Jonny, alright, it’s not his fault he’s still been nervous even with her assurances. 

“Alright,” she says eventually. “Hello, Jonny. Are your parents here?”

“Uh, no,” Jonny says, rubbing at the back of his head. “They’re in Canada.”

Patrick’s eyes widen, his palms sweaty. He’s not sure why he expected Jonny’s parents to be here. “You’re on your own?”

“No,” Jonny says, like Patrick’s slow or something. “I’m here with you.”

There’s a strange expression on Patrick’s dad’s face, but Patrick ignores them, asking them all to shuffle down a seat. They all bitch out about it, of course, but they do, though his dad leans over, tries to talk about something, but Patrick’s not paying attention. He waits until they’re all seated, still thrumming with energy, and startles when Jonny leans over, mouth close to Patrick’s ear. 

“You’re gonna go top three.”

Jonny’s faith is intense and Patrick doesn’t know if he can handle it. He turns to say something back, but then the draft is starting and he shuts his mouth with an audible click. 

He goes first.

Fuck, he goes  _ first _ .

To Chicago. He’s gonna be with Jonny.

The first person he turns to is Jonny, his smile ridiculous, but Jonny just tugs him in for a hug - manly, because he’s still Jonny - and then lets go so Patrick can thank his family. 

On the way down the steps, to where the Blackhawks guys are waiting for him, he thinks about the amount of time he and Jonny will be spending together.

_ Fucking yes _ .

  
  


There’s a lot of drama about where Patrick’s going to stay once he makes prospect camp. Patrick apparently doesn’t get a say in who he’s going to stay with. He knows rookies stay with other guys on the team and tend to make their own way once they know what the score is, but Patrick’s itching to get his own place, to stop having someone looking over his shoulder every five seconds.

The strange look hasn’t left his dad’s face since the draft. It comes and goes, obviously his dad isn’t suffering one emotion the entire time, but when he looks at Patrick, it’s like he knows something Patrick doesn’t, and Patrick feels dumb. 

“What’s up with you?” He asks, when he’s having to pack shit for Chicago. 

His dad stares at him for a long time. “You haven’t been sick in a while, huh?”

“No.” Patrick shoves some polo shirts into a bag. He hopes he’s gonna need all this shit. If he gets sent back home, it’s gonna suck. “Why?”

“Just a thought,” his dad says. Then, looking awkward, he grabs Patrick’s shoulders, spins him around and looks him in the eye. “If you start to feel sick, or feel uncomfortable about anything, you tell me, right?”

Patrick frowns, not sure why his dad’s being so weird about this. “Dad-”

“Patrick,” his dad presses, giving him a little shake. “After Jackie, I don’t want.”

Tuning his dad out, Patrick barely tamps down the urge to roll his eyes. Of course this is about Jackie. Patrick doesn’t resent her, not exactly, because she’s his sister and he loves her, but his parents make it really fucking hard to care about her. “Alright.”

There’s a long silence and Patrick’s half afraid his dad is gonna talk about it some more. Thankfully, he lets go and starts to dig through Patrick’s closet. Patrick turns back to the bed, his enthusiasm for packing gone. His phone is on the dresser and it’s easy enough to grab it, tell his dad he needs to take five, and hurry outside to the backyard. The girls are in the living room doing something Patrick’s sure he doesn’t care about, and shoots a text to Jonny. He’s got other friends, he’s not dumb, but Jonny’s like Patrick–he gets it. 

_ Dad thinks I’m gonna get sick.  _

There’s only a few minutes of Patrick staring down at his phone, willing Jonny to answer immediately, and then Jonny’s replying. 

_ As if I’d let you _ .

Patrick rolls his eyes, at once comforted and irritated with Jonny’s certainty that the world will bow down before him. In this case it benefits Patrick so whatever. 

_ Think he’s afraid I’m gonna Imprint :( _

Jonny doesn’t reply for a long time and by the time he does, he’s talking shit about the Sabres who Patrick is constitutionally bound to defend, and it doesn’t occur to him that Jonny sidesteps the statement. 

  
  


Prospect camp is an experience. 

The team decide to lump Patrick and Jonny in the same hotel room, which Patrick is surprised by, but kind of excited about. He wants to get to know some of the others guys. It’s not a given that he and Jonny will make the team, so he’s not expecting anything from camp except to play his best and hope for everything else. 

Savard’s awesome, tells Patrick to call him  _ Savvy _ like they’re already pals, and if Patrick’s a little starstruck, Jonny’s the only one that laughs at him, taps his but with a stick and says, “ _ Savvy _ , eh?”

“Fuck off,” Patrick says primly, skating away from Jonny backwards because he can.

Hockey’s always been something Patrick can do as easily as breathing. He throws himself into it heart and soul, and he treats prospect camp the same way he would anywhere else. It’s harder, a strain on every inch of his body, and even the training they put him through to figure out his size and strength is more arduous than anything he’s ever done. 

“You need muscle,” one of them tells him.

Others make considering noises about everything from his size (some of the coaches) to his history of illness (the team doctors) and Patrick’s terrified enough about his chances of getting into the NHL that he slips into bed that night, breathing heavy and trying not to cry. 

Jonny’s duvet rustles, and when Patrick risks a peek, he can see Jonny staring back. It’s not totally dark in the room, enough light still coming through the curtains to illuminate Jonny’s serious expression.

Patrick scowls. “What?”

“Why are you sad?”

“I’m not,” Patrick says reflexively. “Why are you sad?”

“Because you are.” There isn’t even a hesitation and Patrick blinks at Jonny slowly, doesn’t know what to say to that. Jonny shrugs, the duvet slipping a bit. “Why?”

Patrick opens his mouth once, twice. “They kept asking questions about my illness,” he says eventually. “What if they send me back to London?”

His voice trails off at the last, doesn’t want to say it too loud in case it actually happens. 

“They won’t,” Jonny says, his voice wobbly, and he’s clutching at his duvet. Then, stubbornly, “I’ll go with you.”

“That’s stupid.” Patrick rolls his eyes. Honestly. “You can’t just follow me to London because you want to. You don’t even  _ play _ for the Knights.”

Jonny frowns thoughtfully. “I could.”

“Well, duh.” Patrick knows that Jonny’s capable of walking onto any team, telling them he wants to play, and they’ll bend over backwards to snap him up. Still. He’s being stupid. “If you turn down the Hawks ‘cause of me, I’ll have to punch you.”

Jonny’s grinning suddenly, his eyes bright even though it’s dark. “You’d have to reach me first.”

It’s not even a good joke but Patrick cackles like it is, even if Jonny’s being a douche about his size, because it makes Patrick feel better. 

“You know they just wanna know how to care of you if it happens again.” Jonny waits until they’ve both calmed down a bit before speaking. His tone is back to serious, but he’s playing with his duvet, eyes on the floor. “Maybe ‘cause they wanna put you on the team.”

“Sure,” Patrick says, trying to sound as sure as he can. 

It takes him ages to fall asleep. He can’t stop thinking of Jonny’s face, his determination to follow Patrick anywhere, and it’s a little scary because Patrick’s never had that before, but he likes it. 

  
  


They make the  _ team _ .

“I told you we would,” Jonny says, whispering furiously in Patrick’s ear.

Patrick hugs him back tightly, and only pulls away ‘cause he has to call his parents. He’s apparently staying with Bowman until the end of the season, when his first paycheck will land–and Patrick can’t  _ wait _ for that. He’s not gonna get to see his parents again before he’s due to play, though he knows his dad’ll probably wanna come down to watch some.

“Hey baby,” his mom says, and Patrick immediately frowns. She doesn’t call him that anymore, and it puts him on edge. 

“I made the team,” Patrick says, unable to keep the grin from his face even with his confusion. 

His mom breathes out slowly. “That’s great, sweetheart.”

Patrick scowls. “Mom, what’s going on?”

Jonny looks up from his bed, so Patrick turns his back on him, annoyed that he’s not alone for this.

“Patrick,” she starts. 

“I thought there’d be cheering or something,” Patrick snaps, a little bitter. 

Another breath, then someone’s voice on the end of the phone. 

“Patrick?” It’s Erica this time, obviously snatching the phone from his mom. “Did you make it?”

“Yeah,” Patrick says easily, though now even he sounds more annoyed than happy about it. “What’s going on there?”

Erica’s too busy screaming to answer, and her delighted laughter is enough to ease some of the tension in Patrick’s shoulders. “That’s amazing! I can’t wait till we get to see some of the games. Maybe date a hockey player.”

“As if,” Patrick says over her continued laughter. He sobers quickly, rubbing at his forehead. “You didn’t answer my question.”

There’s a long pause and Patrick’s a step away from yelling when Erica finally says, “Jess Imprinted.”

Patrick stares at the opposite wall, risks a glance to the left and sees Jonny paying attention, even if he’s trying his best to  _ not _ look like he is. “Erica–”

“It’s permanent,” Erica says, without waiting for Patrick to finish. “Not like Jackie. Dad tried to make Jess take meds to shut it off, but she refused. She’s locked herself in her bedroom and Dad keeps yelling.”

“Fuck,” Patrick says emphatically. “Is she okay?”

“She wants it.” Erica’s voice is quiet and Patrick can picture her out of the way in the den, holding a hand over the handset. “I’m scared.”

Patrick tips his head back against the wall, curls a fist into his duvet and says, “it’ll be fine,” even though he doesn’t think that at all.

When he finally hangs up, Patrick stares down at his hands. He can feel Jonny actively trying not to ask what’s up and sighs. “Ask.”

Jonny crosses the room, comes and sits next to Patrick on the bed. “Is it Jackie again?”

Patrick laughs, tipping his head to rest against Jonny’s shoulder. “It’s  _ Jess _ . She’s sensible and would never–she wants it, Jonny.”

“Most people do.” Jonny’s voice is gentle and it makes Patrick want to sock him in the jaw. He’s so rational about something that keeps fucking up Patrick’s life spectacularly. 

“Mom didn’t even sound happy I made the team. She’s worried about Jess.” Patrick grits his teeth because he’s not gonna cry about this. He just made the NHL and he can be better. 

“I’m happy,” Jonny says, twisting his hand in Patrick’s shirt. Patrick shifts when Jonny does, happy to have Jonny’s arms envelope him, Jonny’s mouth pressed to the top of his head. “I’m glad I have you here with me.”

Patrick thinks  _ I don’t know what I’d do without you _ but that feels too honest, too raw, so he settles for letting Jonny hold him until he doesn’t feel like breaking something.

  
  


Patrick wakes up with a rash.

It freaks him out for a second because it’s exactly what happened when he was a kid and there’s no way he can get sick now. He’s about to start playing in the NHL. Donning a sweater – it’s not exactly freezing but he’s sure he can get away with it – he goes upstairs. Nobody’s home thankfully and he grabs his keys. Maybe he should call his mom? She knows about this stuff and whether he should see a doctor. Then again, she’ll probably just tell him to see a team doctor and he’ll be fucked. They’ll bench him or send him back to London and he can’t have that happen.

Pulling back the sleeve of his sweater, he glares angrily at the rash as if willing it away. It hasn’t happened in years and he’s fucked off it’s happening now.

He jumps when his phone starts to ring, vibrating in his back pocket, and he tugs it out. It’s Jonny, and Patrick rolls his eyes. Just because the media has a hard on for the two of them being best buds or whatever doesn’t mean Jonny has to buy into it.

Answering anyway, Patrick puts Jonny on speaker and jams his key into the ignition. “’Sup?”

He can practically see Jonny rolling his eyes. “Hello Patrick.”

“What are you, a call center?” Patrick grins, pulling out of the Bowman’s drive. “You don’t have to be polite, we’re not in Canada.”

“Fuck you,” Jonny says immediately. “Just because you don’t like being respectful.”

Patrick keeps silent because he’ll never get tired of fucking with Jonny. He heads for the gy, figuring he might as well get some training in while he’s figuring out what the fuck to do with this stupid rash.

“You’re an asshole.” Jonny sounds torn between amusement and irritation, which has pretty much been his default state since they were kids. “Can I swing by? I need advice.”

Patrick’s eyebrows shoot up. There are certain things he knows to be true without question; he would die without hockey, his mama is to be obeyed at all times, and Jonathan Toews does not ask for advice from Patrick Kane. “I’m headed to the gym.”

There’s a tense silence and Patrick wonders whether he should divert to the hotel where Jonny’s staying. Maybe that would be weird?

“Whatever,” Jonny says eventually. “You should train. You need more muscle mass because you’re short.”

It’s Jonny’s deadpan tone but he sounds so serious that Patrick’s, “Hey!” is out before he can stop it. When Jonny laughs, Patrick rolls his eyes. What an asshole.

“Seriously though,” Jonny adds, and he hesitates. “You need more muscle mass.”

“Shut up,” Patrick snaps even though he knows Jonny means well. “My muscle mass is badass.”

It makes no sense, but Jonny’s reluctant laugh is good enough to have Patrick grinning. There’s a long silence and Patrick keeps his eyes on the road, wonders what advice Jonny would have asked him about. Not that he wants to know the ins and outs of Jonny’s life or anything, but it’s rare enough that he’s intrigued.

“If you need advice,” he says eventually. “Call your mother.”

Jonny mutters something under his breath and hangs up. Patrick’s still grinning when he pulls into the gym’s parking lot and he forgets about the rash right up until he starts to tug off his sweater.

Weirdly, it’s gone.

  
  


“Dunno what it was,” Patrick says later that week, splayed out on his bed and staring up at the ceiling. His phone is cradled between his shoulder and cheek, and Jackie’s still coming up with a million theories about what it is. She’s the only one Patrick trusts with this; Erica will tattle, Jessica will try and look it up too much and give Patrick a million illnesses he wouldn’t believe, and his parents – just no.

“I had a rash once,” Jackie says eventually. “When I Imprinted.”

“Which time?” Patrick doesn’t mean to be an asshole, but sometimes the words are out before he can stop them. Jackie lets out a huff on the end of the phone and Patrick rubs at his face. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that.”

Jackie doesn’t say anything for a while and Patrick opens his mouth to apologise  _ again _ when she sighs. “I know I was a pain in the ass for ages.”

Guilt settles in Patrick’s chest. “I hated it,” he admits slowly. “I used to think you were doing it on purpose or something. I know you weren’t,” he continues, when Jackie goes to protest. “Imprinting isn’t exactly – I think it’s dumb, but you couldn’t help it. I guess Jess can’t either.”

“You know kids Imprint a lot, right?”

“No,” Patrick says, dragging out the vowel. “I’ve never Imprinted.”

“That you know of,” Jackie says almost immediately.

Patrick can’t help the shudder that runs up his spine. He doesn’t  _ want _ an Imprint. Jackie’s spent half of her life in hospitals and doped up on meds. Patrick definitely doesn’t want that, especially if it means he ends up benched until the team figure out a way to trade him. Not that they’d care if it turned out he Imprinted; obviously the NHL isn’t particularly fond of Imprinted hockey players, especially if they can’t leave a state because their Imprint can’t come with.

“Whatever,” he says, rubbing at his face. “It’s just a rash, no big deal.”

Jackie hums noncommittally and Patrick rethinks his choice of calling her. They aren’t as close as he and his other sisters and Patrick’s always hated it. Talking to her feels like a challenge, even when they’re just discussing a fucking rash.

“Can I ask you something?”

Patrick frowns up at the ceiling. “’Course.”

Taking a deep breath, Jackie lets it out slowly. She’s nervous, he realises, and feels like a bit of a dick for not trying harder. Eventually, she mutters something derogatory about herself under her breath and Patrick’s a step away from chastising her when she starts talking. “Do you hate me?”

There’s a horrible silence because Patrick doesn’t know what the fuck to say. “Jackie, what the fuck.”

Jackie laughs, self-deprecatingly. “You always just – I know you hate that I Imprinted a lot as a kid and I thought you hated me for it.”

“Jesus,” Patrick mutters, half at himself and half at Jackie. He’s the worst big brother ever and he wants to punch himself in the face. “Of course I don’t hate you. Jackie, you’re my sister.”

“So?” Jackie sounds more defiant now, furious, though Patrick hopes it’s a fury he can dispel. “That doesn’t mean you have to like me. It also doesn’t mean we have to  _ love _ each other.”

“Well I do,” Patrick says, because he’s just as stubborn. “Jackie, I love you and I’m sorry I’ve been a dick.” He’s not the best at this stuff and kind of gets where Jackie’s coming from, if he’s honest. Patrick had to look after Erica and Jess a lot when his parents were in the hospital with Jackie. That didn’t mean they didn’t spend time with her, but it was harder given her propensity for mood swings. “I haven’t been a good brother, have I?”

Jackie sighs. “It’s been hard. I don’t – I’m sorry.”

“It’s biology,” Patrick says, because Jonny might be a moron, but he knows about things like hormones and body mass and shit and made Patrick realise Jackie’s not exactly to blame. “I’ll be better.”

“You can start by calling Jess” Jackie says, and Patrick closes his eyes ‘cause yeah, he probably should. Her next words are happier and Patrick can hear the grin in them. “You also owe me new clothes.”

Patrick laughs, feeling some of the tension in his shoulders ease. “Years of guilt to make up for, huh?”

Jackie starts off on all the things she’s gonna make Patrick buy and though Patrick’s not exactly rich (yet), he’s gonna buy her every single thing just so that she’ll keep smiling and stop hating him. He can totally grow as a person.

  
  


The first season passes in a blur. 

It’s everything Patrick’s wanted for his life and he can’t imagine not being in the NHL now that he’s made it. The team is hard, the guys nice enough, but they’re a unit and Patrick struggles with being a kid in a man’s world, and he’s anxious to prove he wants it. 

He keeps up with his sisters, calls his grandpa on a couple of occasions, but rarely talks to his parents. He wants them to be proud of him, always feels that rush of elation when they come to watch him play, but sometimes he wishes his family was normal. 

Jonny’s always around to distract him. Literally always around. It’s not that Patrick wants to get rid of him or anything, but when they’re not rooming on the road, Jonny always finds a reason to want to run through something with Patrick, or Patrick’ll be sitting at the Bowmans and ask Jonny to meet up somewhere. It’s frankly ridiculous, but there’s an itch under Patrick’s skin he can’t scratch. He pretends it doesn’t bother him, but every time they celebrate a goal, he’ll launch himself at Jonny and it’ll be there again, irritating him until he gives in. 

Not that he admits that to Jonny. Whatever, Patrick’s sure it’s just rookie nerves. He and Jonny are doing fucking awesome–Calder trophy here they come–and Patrick’s happy enough to keep doing interviews and asking the same questions over and over if it means Jonny keeps grinning at him and actually loosening up. 

(If Jonny doesn’t get Captain over the summer, Patrick’s gonna have to punch someone, because he’s already taking that world bending attitude he uses on Patrick and throwing it around the locker room.)

“I want you to win,” Patrick says, the day of the awards. “But I’ll bet you $500 I take it.”

Jonny rolls his eyes, checks himself out in the mirror for the fiftieth time. 

“Stop staring at yourself,” Patrick says, elbowing him out of the way. “You can’t possibly look any more attractive, no matter how much you try.”

It’s supposed to be an insult, but from the way Jonny’s smiling, Patrick doesn’t think it hit that way. Not that he cares. He’s got eyes, alright, and sure, he loves a good lay with a lady (ha, as  _ if _ ) but he can admit to himself that Jonny’s attractive. If he ever decides dudes are the way to go. (No.)

Throwing an arm around Patrick’s shoulders, Jonny squints at him through the mirror. “I guess you look good as well.”

Patrick rolls his eyes. “Whatever. So, you taking the bet?”

“No,” Jonny says more seriously. He doesn’t even hesitate. “You’re obviously gonna win.”

“Shut up.” Patrick’s voice comes out breathless, like it’s punched out, and despite the hope blossoming in his chest, he thinks he’d be happy whichever one of them ends up with the goods. “Come on, let’s get that trophy.”

Even when Patrick gets the Calder, even when he manages to thank Jonny before everyone else because he can’t help himself, he can’t help but think of the trophy as theirs. They share a line, share a hockey brain–that counts for something.

  
  


Patrick’s due home for the summer, and he’s not expecting to be back from Buffalo long enough to find a place, he takes up Jonny’s offer of a realtor to find them both somewhere to live. Patrick wants to live in Trump Tower. Not because it’s awesome or anything, but they’re expensive and Patrick wants something expensive for his first place. Jonny rolls his eyes, but he still tells the realtor as much, and Patrick grins at the knowledge that Jonny’s prone to giving him anything he wants if he asks in the right way. 

His good spirits last right up until he gets home, and he finds out Jess doesn’t live there anymore. 

Standing in the kitchen, his mom looks tired and drawn. His dad’s hovering awkwardly in the doorway. Patrick makes not secret of his anger. “Where is she?”

“She moved out,” his mom says, casting a quick look at his dad. “Went to live with your grandpa.”

“Fuck,” Patrick says, ignoring his mother’s scandalised, “Patrick!” There are more fucked up things in this room alone than Patrick swearing. “Why?”

Patrick’s dad lets out a noise. “Decided her Imprint was more important than family.”

The word Imprint is starting to sound like a curse word. It sends a momentary shiver up Patrick’s spine, but he fights down the urge to blame it for this current predicament. “She’s fifteen! Grandpa shouldn’t be looking after her. Mom, what the hell?”

“You’re not here,” his mom says eventually, looking apologetic. “We tried everything to make her happy, but she didn’t want to work with us.”

Patrick loves his family with every fibre of his being, but he feels sick to his stomach and he doesn’t know why. He folds his arms across his chest. “Jackie?”

“I’m fine,” Jackie says, padding into the kitchen barefoot. Patrick knows she’s been listening at the door from the look she darts him under her lashes. He’s trying to be better about the Imprint stuff, even if the whole idea makes him uncomfortable. “Happy meant meds.”

“Jacqueline,” their dad snaps, slamming a hand on the table. “There was more to it than that.”

“No, Dad.” Jackie’s grip tightens on her glass. “There wasn’t. You thought you could shove meds down her like you do me and everything would be fine.”

Patrick can see the situation going south faster then he ever expected it could. “Jackie, leave it.”

When she opens her mouth, probably to continue arguing with him if she can’t with their dad, but at whatever she sees on his face, she shuts it and storms out, refusing to acknowledge anyone else.

“Mom,” Patrick says,  _ pleads _ . “Tell me you tried anything else.”

“What else is there?” Patrick’s mom says, looking stricken. “Father Thomas–”

“Fuck,” Patrick says again, and leaves the room. His family is clearly a shitshow, and before he can go and search out any of his sisters, he shoots Jonny a text to let him know he’ll probably be home sooner than expected. He’s not sure he can handle this for long.

He’s not surprised when his phone rings a beat later. 

“Aren’t you home?”

“Jess isn’t living here anymore,” Patrick says, leaning against the wall of the living room, blessedly empty. He closes his eyes and breathes out slowly. “I know you have a secret folder on all things Imprint, but I need you to just let me rant about them right now, can you do that?”

There’s a long moment when Patrick thinks Jonny might refuse. He doesn’t know why Jonny is so into them, or knows so much about them, but right now, if he starts trying to claim they’re a gift, or fated, or whatever the fuck else he wants to say about them, Patrick might never speak to him again.

At least until he gets back to Chicago.

“Sure,” Jonny says, sounding certain. 

  
  
  


It’s not just Patrick’s family that has him desperate to get back to the city, especially now that he has a nice new pad to move into, thanks to the realtor Jonny’s still smugly claiming was the best idea he ever had–the dude’s like nineteen.

Though Patrick’s never suffered from them before, he’s been getting headaches that he can’t shake no matter how many different ways he tries. He confides in Erica that he thinks it’s to do with his illness and she gets tight-lipped, starts talking about doctors and pharmacies and Patrick nopes out of that conversation in a hurry. 

“I’ll talk to the team,” he assures her, though he’s absolutely not going to do that.

They’ve eased off by the time he’s been back in Chicago a couple of days and though it’s a little soon to be claiming as much, he thinks he’s safe enough to count them gone.

That lasts only as long as it takes Jonny to turn up at his (brand new) apartment and give Patrick the third degree about his symptoms. 

“You promised you’d tell me,” Jonny says, looking stricken and like Patrick’s betrayed him or something.

Patrick leans against the counter. “They were headaches, Jonny, relax. They’re gone now.” 

Jonny stares at him for an uncomfortably long time, and Patrick tries not to squirm under the attention. “If they come back–”

“The team doctors will be the first to know,” Patrick says, lips quirking up into a smile. “Unless you want me to keep you informed of everything?”

“Whatever,” Jonny grouses, and Patrick tries not to laugh. It’s obvious to them both that Jonny does want to be informed, but he’s not gonna ask for it. It’s probably a little creepy, but they’ve been living on top of each other for so long it’s not even in the top ten of creepy things they’ve done.

“I promise,” Patrick says, rounding the counter and leaning up against Jonny. “That I’ll tell you if I get another headache.”

It sounds ridiculous but Jonny sighs, totally smiling in his  _ no I’m not _ kind of way, so Patrick’s gonna rack it up as a win. 

  
  


The moment they step out onto the ice, Patrick feels a connection with Jonny snap into place. He knows where Jonny’s gonna be, knows where he needs to be, and it’s effortless how easy they make it look. Patrick doesn’t understand it. He and Jonny are on the same team, are on the same line, share a room, have been playing together for years, but something’s changed.

He’s always been attuned to Jonny, knows when he’s in the room and almost immediately gravitates towards him. It’s as if the summer left him starved for Jonny’s touch. There’s a flare of want in Patrick’s stomach, but it goes deeper than that, like he aches for Jonny. It’s as if his body  _ wants _ Jonny to curl his fingers around his wrist, or cup the back of his neck, or even just rest his hand on Patrick’s lower back. The last, in fact, is the worst. 

Jonny does it as they leave Johnny’s Ice House one day, and Patrick almost groans out loud. It’s just Jonny’s fingers and it’s through layers of clothing, but Patrick feels it like they’re naked, like Jonny’s braced over him and their bodies are touching, skin to skin. Patrick needs to do something; he tugs Jonny out of sight, feeling another brush of want as his fingers touch Jonny’s naked wrist. “ _ Jonny _ .”

Jonny’s eyes widen but his eyes drop to Patrick’s mouth. “What are you doing, Kaner?”

“Kiss me,” Patrick says, sounding desperate but what the fuck ever.

To his surprise, Jonny doesn’t snap at him, nor does he pull away or look disgusted. “Kaner–”

“Please,” Patrick says, licking his lips. “You gotta kiss me.”

Jonny swallows thickly, presses his thumb to Patrick’s throat. His eyes are dark,  _ possessive _ and this time Patrick thinks his knees are going to buckle. Jonny’s free hand rests on Patrick’s hip and he presses Patrick back against the wall, crowds up close against him.

He looks a little crazed, like whatever Patrick’s feeling he’s feeling too and then they’re kissing; hot and full o tongue. They part to breathe, but Patrick’s lips are tingling, and he doesn’t want to stop. He feels like he’s going to die if Jonny stops kissing him. He presses back in, tangles his hand in Jonny’s hair. Jonny’s thumb is still against his throat, rubbing insistently against his windpipe and fuck, fuck, Patrick’s vibrating so much he thinks he’s going to shake right out of his skin.

Their kiss turns sloppy, full of spit, and Patrick’s making horrible needy noises into Jonny’s mouth. Jonny’s fingers are so tight, so possessive on Patrick’s skin that he’s going to bruise.It feels  _ right _ , even if Patrick thinks dully that he should be more concerned with what’s happening. Right now, he’s not. Right now, his world is narrowed down to Jonny and he’s startled by how much he wants, needs, this.

“Do you want–?” Jonny starts.

“Please,” Patrick says, tugging him towards their cars. He doesn’t care whose they leave in, doesn’t care which bed they end up in. They both have their own places, and now that he can’t focus on anything but Jonny, he thinks the best decision they ever made was living so close because he wants Jonny right there every second. “Yours?”

Jonny stares at him, tongue flicking out to wet his bottom lip. “This is insane.”

Patrick’s chest tightens with panic and he steps back, drops Jonny’s hand like he’s been burned. “Jonny.”

“I want it,” Jonny says in a rush, words tripping over themselves as he digs his keys out of his pocket. “Fuck, Patrick, of course I do. You’re – you, and I wanna fuck you so bad, but this is  _ insane _ .”

Somewhere, in the back of Patrick’s head, there’s an alarm blaring that he really needs to pay attention to, but he’s never been very good at listening to warnings. He shakes it off, wraps his fingers around Jonny’s shirt, uses it to tug him closer. “I want you to fuck me, I don’t care.”

Jonny’s eyes dilate, darken, and then he’s shoving Patrick back against his car, hand dipping down to cup Patrick’s dick through his pants. Patrick jerks, thrusts up against Jonny’s fingers and whines low in his throat. Jonny’s manhandled him into the car between one breath and the next and Patrick sinks into the cushions of Jonny’s plush seats and tries not to palm himself too much.

It’s not helped by the fact that Jonny keeps reaching over, kneading Patrick’s thigh, his fingers sliding perilously close to Patrick’s dick. God, if he just moved an inch closer, he could–

“I can’t think,” Patrick bites out. It should be terrifying, the amount of cloudiness in his head right now. He likes sex, doesn’t get as much of it as he would like of course, he fucking loves it, but it’s never been like  _ this _ .

Jonny pulls into the drive – they’re already at his apartment complex? – and then stares at him long and hard. “You want this? Honestly?”

Patrick frowns, doesn’t know what Jonny’s asking, but forces himself to calm down enough to nod frantically. “Yeah, ‘course, I’m not like – it’s just I want you so bad.”

If he’s being honest with himself, Patrick’s used to thinking Jonny’s an attractive guy, but there’s never been the need to fuck him until now. It’s hard to ignore.

“I know what I want,” he says, firm and sure, and tugs Jonny across the center console for a kiss. “Fuck me.”

“Jesus,” Jonny mutters, and shoves at Patrick. “Get out of the car and inside.”

Patrick doesn’t find Jonny’s commanding tone hot. Usually, it makes him want to punch Jonny in the face and tell him to go get his own pucks if he’s that desperate for them, but right now? His dick jumps and he groans, palming himself quickly before fumbling for the seatbelt.

Jonny’s gonna fuck him.

Shit,  _ Jonny’s _ gonna fuck him.

  
  
  
  


Patrick’s skin feels hot. He’s sticky and disgusting and doesn’t think he can handle another orgasm, but Jonny’s kissing at his throat, fingers sliding down their bodies to wrap around Patrick’s dick and tug gently.

Throwing an arm around Jonny’s neck, Patrick tangles his fingers in Jonny’s damp, sweaty hair, and drags him up, kisses him until their lips are numb. He rolls his hips, feels the zing of pleasure up his spine as Jonny’s thumb slides over the slick head. Patrick wants to come, wants a shower, wants Jonny to never touch his dick again.

“I can’t,” he whines, panting in Jonny’s ear as Jonny mouths at his jaw, sucking a bruise into the pale skin. Patrick’s gonna be a mess and he doesn’t even care, still shoving up with his hips and trying to get Jonny to do something.

Jonny’s shaking, little tremors rocking his body as he slides his dick between Patrick’s cheeks. He’s already fucked Patrick twice, Patrick’s sensitive and tries to shy away from the touches, wants them all the more. His brain is a fuzzy mess.

“It’s alright,” Jonny soothes, nosing at Patrick’s cheek and then catching his mouth in a kiss. It’s soft and careful, where every other kiss has been intense and heated, and Patrick’s startled by the change. “You wanna stop?”

“No,” Patrick says, then clutches at Jonny’s shoulders. “Yes.” He pauses, closes his eyes against the sensations when Jonny’s hand stills. He wants to thrust into it, wants to breathe a sigh of relief and  _ shower _ . “I don’t know.”

“Hey.” Jonny pulls back to stare at him, fingers of his free hand brushing Patrick’s cheek. Patrick realises with mounting horror that he’s actually crying. Jonny’s mouth is curved up into a soft smile and Patrick’s never seen  _ that _ look in his eyes before but god, he wants more of it. “You’re alright.”

Patrick nods, movements jerky, but then he tugs Jonny back in for a slow kiss, doesn’t mind when Jonny’s hand falls away from his dick and curls around his hip instead. Everywhere Jonny’s touching him is alive and Patrick wants it forever, wants to keep Jonny like this – maybe a little cleaner – and never let him go. “I wanna shower.”

Jonny laughs into his mouth, runs his fingers gently up Patrick’s side, not enough to tickly but enough to be sensual. Patrick’s never felt like this with someone and it’s terrifying and wonderful in equal measure. “We can if you want.”

“You can’t touch my dick,” Patrick warns.

Raising an eyebrow, Jonny’s grinning like an idiot, and god but he should do it more in the locker room. He’s not captain yet, but Patrick knows he will be, and he wants better for Jonny than for the guys to think he’s a stick-in-the-mud or a jackass. Jonny’s so much better than that and Patrick loves him.

Woah.

What the  _ fuck _ .

Patrick startles, huffs a breath of surprise against Jonny’s neck, but Jonny doesn’t seem to notice, keeps nipping and sucking at Patrick’s collarbone.

_ Get it together _ , Patrick chastises himself, and sighs, kissing the crown of Jonny’s head. “Shower. Please, Jonny.”

Jonny sighs, and when he lifts his head, rolls his eyes. The fucker waits until Patrick can see him to do it and dammit, Patrick shouldn’t be as into it as he is.

“Loser,” Patrick mutters, but slaps Jonny’s butt as he climbs off of Patrick and sits back, smirking like a tool. “What?”

Jonny rests his hands on Patrick’s knees, slides them up Patrick’s thighs and no, Patrick is not gonna let him get his hands – or mouth, fuck his  _ mouth _ – anywhere near his junk, thank you, when he’s just said he wants a damn shower.

“If you get us stuck in this bed for a minute longer, Jonathan Toews, I will  _ kill you _ .”

“Sure,” Jonny says, far too confident in his own stubbornness, but he just presses a kiss to Patrick’s stomach. “Alright, shower.” 

  
  


 

It all goes to shit the night they play Phoenix.

Patrick gets hit and goes down, feels a skate to the back of the head, and though he’s frustrated and gets that Hanzal didn’t expect someone else to be there, he’s not looking to retaliate.

It’s then, of course, that Jonny decides to retaliate for him.

The thing that nobody else can see, the thing Patrick knows with a bone deep certainty, is that Jonny’s furious. The tight line of his mouth, the fact that he’s even fighting at all, the look on his face. It’s all ringing that alarm bell once again and fuck, Patrick knows this is because he was hit. 

“Jonny,” he snaps after the game. They’re in Jonny’s condo, Patrick following him home, and now he’s got Jonny against the wall, his own fury keeping his hands fisted in Jonny’s shirt. “What were you thinking?”

“He hit you,” Jonny says, like that’s normal. 

“I’ve been hit before.” Patrick’s eyes narrow. “What the hell was so different this time?”

Jonny’s eyes dart around the room, as if he can’t look Patrick in the eye. 

“Jonny,” Patrick says gently, relaxing his grip and pressing his hands to Jonny’s chest. “I don’t understand.”

“Patrick.” Jonny sounds stricken, his own hands hesitating before resting on Patrick’s hips. “He hurt you.”

_ No he didn’t _ , Patrick wants to say, but there’s something in the back of his head that makes him step back, that has him holding up his hands when Jonny makes to take a step forward. “Wait.”

Jonny opens his mouth but doesn’t say anything. 

“I need to go,” Patrick says, a cold feeling settling in his belly, and it only gets worse at the expression on Jonny’s face. Patrick feels sick. “I’m sorry.”

“Sure,” Jonny says and fuck, fuck, Patrick needs to leave before he apologises and lets Jonny fuck him again or gives in to the urge to fold himself around Jonny and never let go. 

“I’m sorry,” Patrick says again, desperate for Jonny to believe him.

When he shuts the door between them, the cold feeling spreads, leaving him shaking by the time he gets into his car and what the fuck has he just done?

  
  
  


“I need your help,” Patrick blurts into the phone, falling face first onto his bed. It’s a position he finds himself in often when he’s crying on the phone to his sisters, but whatever. 

Jackie snorts. “When I thought we’d fixed things between us, I didn’t know my advice column opened up.”

Patrick flops onto his back, covering his eyes with a hand. “I Imprinted.”

There’s a horrible silence on the other end of the phone. Patrick doesn’t think Jackie’s gonna answer. “Patrick.”

“I know,” Patrick says quietly because it hurts to think of all the things he’s thought about Imprints and about Jackie in particular. 

Jackie lets out a slow breath. “So why are you calling me?”

It’s been a day and a half since he left Jonny in his apartment and Patrick’s gonna have to talk to him eventually but he wants a plan for when he actually does. 

“An Imprint is two way,” Jackie continues because she knows Patrick so well. “Are you sure your partner wants this?”

Patrick closes his eyes. “They don’t know and I’d like to keep it that way.”

“Shit,” Jackie breathes. “How can I help with that?”

Patrick’s not a coward. He’s done shit that everyone else says is too hard and he’s never found it hard. That doesn’t mean admitting to this is easy, but for the sake of everyone else, he needs to do it. “I need your meds.”

  
  


 

The thing is, Jackie says yes.

Patrick’s only half expecting it, desperate to make things right between him and Jonny because their hockey has to be theirs and not some freaky nature thing. Swearing her to secrecy is easy, trying to hide the identity of his Imprint is not. Part of him wants to tell her, to blurt out Jonny’s name so he has someone to talk to, but he knows better. It only takes one slip up for someone else to find out and everything spirals away from Patrick faster than he can collect it. 

Patrick knows the meds will take a long time to arrive, so he tells Jackie he’s fine with waiting until the summer. He’s not, it’s too fucking hard, but he doesn’t want to put Jackie in jeopardy with his own inability to handle a natural reaction. It’s for the  _ best _ . In the meantime, he needs to stay away from Jonny as much as possible, but it’s hard. They’re on the same line, share a room on the road, everything’s so twisted up and Patrick needs to make it right. 

He knows the look on Jonny’s face, self-deprecating and sad, is because he’s fucked everything up and the meds will sort it out.

“Look,” Jonny says one night, the lights off in their hotel room, and Patrick’s back to Jonny’s bed. “I know I fucked things up and I’m sorry.”

Patrick turns quickly, getting slightly tangled in his blankets. “What the hell?”

“I know you didn’t like it when I tried to protect you, but--”

It startles Patrick, the reminder of how this started. He’s been so intent on arranging things with Jackie that he’s forgotten Jonny doesn’t know, can’t know. “It’s my fault.”

That seems to bring Jonny up short. He frowns--Patrick can’t see him but he knows in the way Jonny’s breath changes, the tone of his voice when he next speaks. “I don’t understand.”

Patrick sighs, the confession on the tip of his tongue, but he manages to keep a tight rein on it, clenches the sheets in his hands and swallows thickly. “I’m fixing it, I swear. I don’t want, I don’t want things to change between us.”

“I don’t want that either,” Jonny admits slowly. “Having you, the way things have been, I’ve needed it.”

“Yeah.” Patrick feels tears well up in his eyes but he fights them bac. God, what’s happening to him. There’s a sadness and confusion settling low in his gut and he knows--knows--it’s not his. Fuck, he’s making Jonny sad and he can’t do that anymore. “I love you, man.”

“Yeah,” Jonny says immediately, and there’s a smile in his voice, so Patrick counts that as one good thing he’s done.

  
  
  
  


“I fucking need this,” Patrick says, letting Jonny crowd him against the wall, the shape of Jonny’s mouth on his neck and he tips his head back, groans. Jonny doesn’t argue, his hands tight on Patrick’s hips, thumbs slipping under the material of Patrick’s t-shirt.

The loss burns, the fact that they’re so fucking close and they can’t get there. Patrick hates that he wants Jonny so much, even after everything, but he can’t tear himself away, not now. Jonny wastes no time tugging down the zipper of Patrick’s jeans, cupping his hand around Patrick’s dick. Patrick arches into it, fingers fisting the back of Jonny’s shirt, rolling his head against the wall to give Jonny better access. 

“Fuck,” Jonny moans, lips and teeth working at the skin of Patrick’s jaw, Patrick unable to help the little motions he’s making against Jonny’s hand, desperate to get those fingers on his dick.

“Please,” he says, because he knows it makes Jonny weak. 

Jonny lets out a strangled moan, drops both hands to Patrick’s hips to work down his jeans and briefs. They end up around Patrick’s thighs, but with enough room for Jonny to get a hand on Patrick’s dick, to stroke him once, twice, swipe his thumb against the head. 

Patrick slides a hand into Jonny’s hair, turns his face into Jonny’s hair and doesn’t even know what he’s saying, just  _ yes, _ and  _ please, _ and  _ Jonny. _ It’s a fucking handjob. Patrick’s not had a lot, can count on one hand the amount he’s had from other people, but fuck, there’s something about this that’s driving him crazy, as if Jonny’s tuned into every nerve ending, to every thought and feeling Patrick’s having about this. 

“I’ve got you,” Jonny says, and it sounds so much like a promise that Patrick’s breath hitches, his hips working against the circle of Jonny’s fist. “I’ve always got you.”

The thing is, the thing is, he  _ does _ . 

Fuck, Jonny’s always got him and it’s supposed to be enough, but if Patrick tells him everything, if he reveals everything he wants to, he’s not sure he’ll be able to keep Jonny. 

“Please,” Patrick says, and he doesn’t know if he means  _ more _ or  _ stop _ or  _ I love you. _

  
  


 

Leaving Jonny--the team--aches in a way Patrick’s not prepared for. 

There’s a whole summer ahead and even if his family is fractured and broken, he still loves them, couldn’t imagine a day passing without them. He wants to go home and remember what it’s like to not have hockey be everything in his life.

There’s also the voice in the back of his head telling him he needs the med, that it’s the only way, that maybe he won’t--that he and Jonny won’t--fuck.

Jackie’s on him even before he’s settled, and although Patrick needs to have this conversation, there must be something in the way he says, “tomorrow, please, Jackie,” or his one, something that makes her take a step back, squeeze his arm. 

“You’re not getting out of it,” she says, half-hearted at best.

Patrick retreats to his bedroom, can’t even face the family until he’s taken a moment to himself. There’s a headache blossoming at the base of his skull and he feels nauseous, shaking all over and he sits on the edge of his bed, head between his knees. 

“Get it together, Kane,” he tells himself over and over, like it’s going to instill some extra confidence to get shit done. It might work on the ice, but his home life’s never been something he can handle. Not like this is gonna make it any better.

By the time he makes it downstairs, into the living room and greets his family for the first time, most of the sickness has worn off, but he’s still got the headache.

It’s persistent and niggling, stays with him for days afterwards, even when he goes to visit Jess at his grandparents’. His grandpa is ecstatic to see him, and Patrick forgets sometimes that his grandpa is the best, especially when they’re apart so much. 

“You can tell me anything,” his grandpa says seriously. He’s either psychic or knows Patrick too well.

“I can’t,” Patrick says, voice barely above a whisper. He feels like a dick. “I don’t want it to--it can’t change anything.”

“Whatever it is, I’ll love you all the same.” 

Patrick knows that in the abstract, the same way he knows everything else. In theory. He knows his grandpa and grandma took Jess in, that they don’t think Imprints are anything to be scared off, but Patrick’s seen what his parents are like, knows what the NHL is like and he can’t, he won’t do that to Jonny. It’ll mess everything up and Patrick wants the best. Yeah for himself, obviously, but mostly for Jonny.

“You look a little pale,” his grandpa says eventually, when it’s clear Patrick isn’t gonna keep talking. “You sick again?”

“A little,” Patrick admits, because it’s a secret he can impart. “I’ll be fine.”

“Mmhmm.” His grandpa doesn’t look convinced, and Patrick goes home feeling worse than he did when he left.

_ You ok? _ Jonny sends that night, just as Patrick’s crawling into bed, a bottle of Jackie’s pills in his hand. 

Patrick snorts.  _ Fuck no _ , he thinks, but just sends  _ I will be. _

Jonny doesn’t reply, and the ache that leaves behind stays with him as long as the headache. 

Jonny doesn’t text again until a week later, when Patrick’s meds have started to kick in. Jackie’s meds. Fuck, whatever, they’re making him almost as sick as he used to be, but worse. He puts it down to losing hockey, something both his mother and father accept readily and god, what does it say about them that they’re buying it? Patrick’s either a better liar or they don’t want to know, which, fuck. Patrick spends half the time in the bathroom, the other half confined to his bedroom, refusing to see anyone. 

If this is what Jackie felt all those years ago, the guilt settling tight on his chest is justified. He’s such a shitty brother. 

_ Can I ask you a question?  _ Jonny sends, one night when Patrick’s cursing everyone from his parents to the hockey gods. 

_ Whatever.  _ Patrick doesn’t care that he’s being short. He just wants the brass band to stop playing in the back of his head. 

_ Would you ever accept an Imprint? If it was for hockey? _

Panic seizes Patrick and he almost throws up, stumbles to the bathroom phone still clutched in hand, and hits the floor so hard his knees ache with it.  _ Fuck, what? _

Jonny takes a while to respond, and Patrick breathes slowly through his nose, tries to regain the equilibrium he’s lost.  _ You can say no. It just... came up with maman and I thought I’d ask. _

_ No, _ Patrick sends immediately, because it’s what he needs to say. 

His body is still thrumming with  _ yes, yes, yes _ even though Patrick’s trying desperately to get it to stop.

_ Ok. _

Nothing else. Just ok. Patrick stares at his phone for a long time, wonders if that’s answered Jonny’s question. He scrolls through his phone, tries to see what Jonny’s been doing during the summer. There’s not a whole lot, mostly pictures of Jonny looking pale and drawn even though he’s supposed to be tanned as fuck. 

Jonny’s not suffering though, with Patrick shutting off his side of the bond.

He’s not.

  
  
  


_ [Excerpt from: Jorgsen, O. “Bond perception–or just good hockey?” ESPN, May 26th, 2010] _

_They’re the face of the Chicago Blackhawks._ __  
  
_It’s a face that’s twisted into many different expressions; some, perhaps, more business than others, but there is no denying that those expressions are in synch in every way that matters. In fact, some might say that their symmetry and bond contains  that well known, but oft ignored element, an Imprint._ __  
  
_The Blackhawks already have one of course, in prime defensemen Duncan Keith and Brent Seabrook. The tier is up for debate, and neither the organisation nor the players themselves will confirm, but it begs the question of whether the Chicago Blackhawks would actually confirm a bond between their young stars._ __  
  
_Nothing showcases their bond like the Vancouver Olympics, where various stories have come out including_ _sharing a taxi,_ _calling each other_ , _and even_ _Kane’s terrible stats_ _when not playing with Toews. There’s speculation that only the drive to correct whatever was going on with Kane kept Toews from behaving the same fashion. The question then becomes just why these things occurred, and if they have a deeper connection._ __  
_There’s no doubt that since debuting with the original six team, Toews and Kane have racked up an impressive list of accomplishments, including a Calder, silver and gold medals, and a captaincy. They have a ways to go–their team still has yet to win a Stanley Cup, but their points and depth signal a team that has the potential. There is the question, however, of just how natural and fluid the relationship between Kane and Toews truly is. If it’s a product of biology, can their dynamic be hailed as something to be lauded and celebrated?_ __  
  
_“It does a disservice,” a Blackhawks insider told me. “They play that way naturally, there’s nothing Imprint about it.”_ __  
  
_Imprints, often cited by scholars as the dirty little secret of the League, are quickly acknowledged and shelved as something necessary by many teams, and while Chicago’s practices are slightly less alarming, there’s still the fact that should Kane and Toews have an Imprint, their rights within the NHL would be practically non-existent._ __  
  
__Perhaps their choice to remain tight-lipped about their status is as savvy as it is frustrating.

 

  
  


Patrick knows he shouldn’t want this quite so much. 

Every time he thinks about it, about scoring the game winner, about the weight of the Stanley Cup in his hands, he can’t handle the tidal wave of emotion. Granted, not all of it’s his, some of it’s Jonny’s, and even when Patrick’s trying to convince himself he doesn’t care, he does. 

There’s always going to be a part of him that wants everything Jonny wants, that’s desperate to take and consume everything Jonny’s willing to give. 

“Fuck,” Patrick says, hands on Jonny’s chest. He’s rolling his hips back, working Jonny’s dick deeper. Jonny’s stretched out beneath him, body glistening like he’s a fucking god, and fuck, Patrick thinks he might be from the way he’s clutching at Patrick’s hips, from the look on his face, the intensity in his eyes. 

“Look at you,” Jonny grits out. He drops his eyes to Patrick’s dick. It’s thick and red, curved up toward Patrick’s belly and he groans, wants Jonny to touch it, to shift against his skin. 

“Shut up,” Patrick grits out, but he’s flushing, knows Jonny’ll see it spreading across his chest and shoulders, and he ducks his head, pushes forward on his hands, rolls his hips against Jonny’s and fuck, fuck, Jonny’s so thick and deep Patrick wants everything. 

“No,” Jonny says, mouth quirking into a smile. He runs his hands teasingly against Patrick’s stomach, brushing lightly over his deck. 

Patrick whines, picks up the rhythm and squeezes down, wants Jonny to feel everything he’s feeling. God, god, it’s too much when Jonny curls a hand around Patrick’s dick, and his eyes are wide open, blown black, and oh, oh, there’s something soft and wonderful about Jonny’s expression that sends a shiver down Patrick’s spine and he’s coming before he’s even thought about it, spilling over Jonny’s fist.

“Jesus,” Jonny mutters, throwing an arm around Patrick.

Patrick’s disgusting and needs to clean up but god, he feels so fucking perfect. He smiles into the curve of Jonny’s neck, closes his eyes. “Cup sex is the best.”

Jonny laughs, kisses Patrick’s temple. “We’ve only won it once.”

“So far,” Patrick grins, scratching at Jonny’s chest lightly. “We need more, Captain Toews.”

“Don’t call me captain in bed,” Jonny says, but from the heat in his eyes, the strength of the kiss he plants on Patrick’s lips, Patrick’s probably gonna get away with saying it some time. 

It’s not until Patrick’s drifting off to sleep that he thinks  _ I want this forever _ and then a quick afterthought,  _ the meds are supposed to stop this. _

  
  


 

There’s a black market drug called IP2--not really an innovative name but an innovative drug--and though Patrick thinks he could probably get hold of it, he doesn’t wanna ruin what little reputation he’s managing to build with Chicago. 

After the sex with Jonny, Patrick panics, throws himself into the Chicago club scene and tries to hook up. 

“It’s a fucking disaster,” Patrick says, hoping Jackie doesn’t laugh at him. “I bought someone back but nothing happened.”

There was amusement in Jackie’s voice, but thankfully she didn’t outright laugh. “As in nothing happened, or  _ nothing happened _ .”

“Those two things mean the same,” Patrick says dryly. “I’m not talking about this with you.”

Jackie does laugh then and Patrick can imagine her rolling her eyes. “You couldn’t get it up, could you?”

Patrick groans, sinks into the cushions of his couch and desperately wants the ground to swallow him up. “Fuck.”

“Yeah, you’re trying,” Jackie says, and fuck her, seriously. “Patrick, not to call you an idiot, but it’s what an Imprint does. It affects the way you sleep with other people. Apparently, and don’t quote me because I’ve only had like level threes at best, but Jess is a level five and she says it’s weird with other people. Whoever your Imprint is, your shit is high if you’re tapping out.”

“I’m not tapping out,” Patrick says, mostly out of protest, but the words  _ your shit is high _ only serves to panic him more. Oh god, what the fuck. “I need to go.”

“Patrick--”

Patrick tosses his phone to the other end of the couch, stares at it accusingly. Not that it’s the phones fault that he has some weird fucking hormone imbalance that’s making him want Jonathan Toews. There’s never been anything quite so fucked up. 

  
  


_ [Excerpt from: Ruanada, Y. “The  trade that rocked the NHL” ESPN, July 26th, 2011] _

_ Gary Bettman and Paul Holmgren have a lot to answer for.  _

_ Though it’s not surprise that the Philadelphia Flyers have enacted some trades over the weekend, it’s impossible to deny that their choice of players leaves a lot to be desired.  _

_ Jeff Carter and Mike Richards are the NHL’s most high-profile Imprinted players and as such, both were thought to be safe with their 11 year contracts that would have seen them continue to be the Flyers’--and indeed the NHL’s--Imprint success story. _

_ The hockey world was rocked this weekend by the news that both Carter and Richards had been traded away from their team--and each other. There has been no official comment from Carter or Richards, though there have been numerous eyewitness reports claiming that Carter is thought to have fled the state of Pennsylvania and is refusing to fly to Ohio, where he’ll make up part of the Columbus Blue Jacket’s roster. _

_ It remains to be seen what will happen between Carter and Richards, whose T7 bond is quite profound, and the negative effects of such a bond being split by distance remains to be seen.  _

_ One thing is not in question; it’s clear that the National Hockey League has so little regard for Imprints that a trade of this kind is both allowed and encouraged.  _

  
  
  


Patrick can’t ignore the news, can’t escape what’s happened between Carter and Richards, and put himself in one place, Jonny in the other. The Blackhawks might not be the worst team in the League, and they care about the bond they do have, but something like a T7? Fuck, what if that’s why it’s so intense for Patrick? What if he and Jonny are that high and they screw up and someone trades them apart?

Richards is--was--the captain, so Jonny’s not safe. 

Patrick’s, fuck, if he slips up just once, what does that mean for them? 

  
  
  


Patrick knows when it happens. 

He’s been feeling off for a few days, and he’s started flushing his meds down the toilet. Feels guilty for it because they’re Jackie’s, not his, and he should be taking them, should be trying to fix this. But then he thinks about the prickling awareness of Jonny, how easy it is to let him in and want him. 

It’s not been so great lately; their connection’s been off, but Patrick’s put it down to coming off the meds. 

There’s a horrible feeling in the pit of his stomach when he wakes up, like something’s off but he can’t put his finger on what. He’s watching the clock, tapping his fingers against the island. He should probably be doing something, going somewhere, but it’s like his whole body is poised on a precipice and he’s gonna fall over the edge any minute.

At quarter past ten, his whole body seizes, brain flaring up, all of his senses tuned into one thing and one thing only; something’s happened to Jonny.

He swipes his phone and car keys off the table and dashes for the door, breathing heavy and thinking  _ fuck fuck fuck _ as he clambers into his car, desperate to get to Jonny. It’s not like he knows where Jonny is, but something is tugging him, his whole body indicating this way, that way, this way, and he sees the accident before his mind whispers  _ that’s it _ .

It’s stupid if he gets out of the car. People are going to see and they’re going to whisper, but Patrick doesn’t know what else to do. He gets out, heart pounding and body shaking, but he can’t make his feet move. Jonny’s car is being towed and fuck, he can see the dent in the hood, knows that Jonny’s hurt because he can’t feel him, and he wants to ask someone, but if they see--

By the time he’s back in his car and peeling away, he’s sure someone must have a picture, but he heads for the nearest hospital instead, desperate to get to Jonny. 

When he finally manages to talk himself in to see Jonny, he only needs to hear  _ concussion _ and his blood runs cold. Jonny doesn’t seem surprised to see him, sitting on the edge of the hospital bed looking all of three feet tall. For someone who dwarfs Patrick, he looks really fucking tiny.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, as if just seeing Jonny is a relief. It is, of course it is, because Jonny’s here and he’s whole and he’s all Patrick’s. “What the fuck.”

Jonny looks up, pale and a bandage across his face. “Looks worse than it is.”

“Fuck you.” The anger hits because fuck Jonny,  _ fuck him _ . “You’ve been playing with a concussion?”

Jonny’s eyes go wide and round, panicked and apprehensive. “No. I wouldn’t, Pat--”

“Don’t lie to me,” Patrick says. He hears the break in his own voice and hates himself just a little. Jonny doesn’t say anything, but drops his eyes to the floor, an answer all its own. “Jesus.”

“I had to play,” Jonny says, through gritted teeth. “You needed me.”

Patrick’s lip curls up into a sneer. “Right, because fucking yourself up in the long term is the way to go, right?”

Jonny doesn’t answer.

“Fuck you for thinking you get to do this to the team.”

“I was thinking of the team,” Jonny protests, voice rising. He’s angry in the way he usually is when they fight, all frowns and danger.

Patrick’s used to ignoring it all and throwing back just as good as he gets. “Not me.”

Jonny sucks in a breath, looking like Patrick’s just punched him. “Pat--”

“Don’t,” Patrick says, begs. “I’m gonna call Sharpy to come pick you up. I’m too angry to drive and you need to be safe.”

“Sure,” Jonny says, and his tone makes Patrick want to stay, want to curl around him and never let go, but he needs to leave because he doesn’t want to fuck things up between them any more than he already is.

  
  
  


Patrick’s not surprised when Jess shows up on his doorstep, literally outside his condo, arms folded and eyebrows raised.

“Why are you here?” Patrick says, because what else can he say?

“Is Jonny here?” Jess says, barging past. 

“No,” Patrick says, drawing out the vowel. “He’s in his condo, with the lights off. You know, ‘cause he has a concussion.”

Jess snorts, dropping onto Patrick’s couch and staring at him. It’s disconcerting and Patrick’s probably supposed to be more weirded out than he is, but in the list of fucked up things about his life, this doesn’t even rank. “Yes, you’ve informed us multiple times.”

“Whatever,” Patrick mutters. He’s just come off a very terribly game streak and he wants to die. Nothing is working right in hockey, in his home life, and his fucking headache thanks to Jonny’s fuzzy Imprintness in his head is making everything worse. “Why are you here?”

“Because Erica and Jackie asked me to be,” Jess admits. “Neither of them could come and see you and one of us had to.”

“I’m a grown man,” Patrick points out. “Pretty sure I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Jess says affably, grin a little too sharp for Patrick’s taste. “Pining away for Jonathan Toews is always healthy.”

Patrick’s brain pretty much short circuits. Jess is still talking, but none of its going in because he can’t stop staring at her, can’t ignore the cold panic unfurling in his stomach. “No.”

Jess raises her eyebrows. It’s not as if she’s any stranger to his attitude, but Patrick hopes he’s a little more intimidating than she’s making out. Her eyes soften, and she sits forward. Patrick wants to sit down. He wants to keep standing. He wants to run and not have to talk about this. 

Thankfully Jess takes pity on him. “Buy me dinner and I promise not to talk about it today.”

Of course, not talking about it then means having to talk about it later, and the next morning, while Patrick’s deciding whether to skip practice to see Jonny, she walks into the kitchen. 

“You love him, don’t you?”

"I'm not gay." Patrick desperately needs her to know this.  
  
"You're an idiot," Jess says, raising her eyebrows. "Patrick, tell me you're kidding."  
  
"No." Patrick draws out the word, raising his eyebrows. "Why?”  
  
Jess pinches the bridge of her nose. Honestly, is everyone around Patrick going nuts? Why do they keep doing that. "I love you, Patrick, so I mean this in the nicest way, but what the fuck is the matter with you?"  
  
Patrick can't keep a lid on his anger, and doesn't mean to take it out on Jess, but she's hear and he's _tired_. "Why do people keep saying that? I'm not the one who gave Jonny a concussion, I didn't tell him to get in the car, and I didn't ask him to shut me out."  
  
There's a strange expression on Jess' face, but if softens and Patrick hates that more than he did her irritation. "Why are you taking these?"  
  
It's Patrick's Imprinaline. He swallows thickly, can already see the <Jacqueline Kane> on the side of the box. Patrick winces, and rubs at his arm, feeling nausea hit his stomach. "She knows," he says, panicking about Jess blaming Jackie for this. "I asked her and I just never told her that I - Jess, please."  
  
"Is it Jonny?"  
  
Patrick doesn't know what to say, feels the truth of it deep under his skin, but shakes his head. "No. Jess, please, I don't know."  
  
"Yes you do," Jess presses, anger twisting her mouth. Patrick's always hated making her mad of all his sisters. She's always been the slowest to anger, but doesn't forgive as easily as Jack and Erica would. "Patrick, tell me. Is it Jonny?"  
  
Jonny's back in his apartment, where Patrick should be, but isn't because Jess is here and he needs to not look at Jonny because he doesn't know what he'll do. Fuck. Patrick deflates, throat too tight, and his hands are shaking as he takes the meds from Jess. "Yeah. Yes it is."

“Patrick.” Jess rests the bottle on the edge of the island and leans forward, catches Patrick’s gaze and holds it. “You know what an Imprint is, don’t you?”

“Make me want Jonny,” Patrick mumbles, because he doesn’t want to talk about this.

Jess looks torn between amusement and despair, but thankfully she settles on something less patronising and goes for fondness. “I love you, but you’re thick as shit sometimes. If you listened to Jackie and me more than Mom and Dad, you’d know that Imprints aren’t just something to hide. Patrick, it’s not some rampant hormone that makes you beholden to someone.”

Patrick makes a face. “I want Jonny thought,” he points out, and regrets it when he sees the elation on Jess’ face. “Shut up.”

“No,” Jess says forcefully. “You wanting Jonny, all this hormone stuff changing everything about you, it’s only happening because you’ve met Jonny. Because he’s everything your heart, body and soul needs.”

“So I can still like women and want Jonny too?”

Jess looks confused for a split second and then exasperated, shaking her head. “You don’t get it. Jonny’s your perfect match, Patrick. Not just in here,” she pressed a finger to his head, “but here,” his heart, “and everywhere. He’s it for you, and your body knows it.”

Patrick blinks at her, heart racing. Fuck, does that mean--

“Oh, shit.”

  
  
  


“I’m sorry,” Patrick blurts, as he bursts into Jonny’s room.

The lights are off, as usual, and Jonny’s staring at him grumpily from under the covers, and Patrick wants to kiss the frown off his face, wants to wrap him up and knows it and never wants to let go. 

“I need you to listen to me, alright. I know you have a concussion,” Patrick says when Jonny opens his mouth. “I know and I fucking hate that it’s happening, but I need you to listen and then you can tell me to fuck off or whatever.”

Jonny raises his eyebrows and remains silent. Fucking Jonny. 

“We Imprinted.”

Okay, that’s not exactly how we wants this to go.

“No shit,” Jonny says, rolling his eyes, and then making a face, like he forgot he’s concussed. Moron.

Wait.

“You knew?” Patrick says, narrowing his eyes. 

“Duh.” Jonny sounds disgruntled and annoyed, and he shifts on the bed. After a beat he stares slowly at Patrick, slow realisation creeping across his face. Patrick feels self-conscious, even though Jonny’s the fucked up one here! “Wait, you didn’t know?”

“I knew,” Patrick protests. “I didn’t think you did.”

There’s something dangerous about Jonny’s tone when he says, “Explain.”

Patrick sags, leaning against the dresser in Jonny’s room and finding it difficult to meet his eyes. He needs to, he owes Jonny this, at least. “You know how I feel about Imprints. I didn’t want--when I realised we had an Imprint, I didn’t want my parents to find out, I didn’t want to lose you.”

It sounds fucking stupid when he lays it out like that, and the expression on Jonny’s face agrees with him. God. 

“I know, I just, I thought you’d be better off without me.” 

“In what universe,” Jonny snaps, his voice furious, “Would I ever want to be without you?”

Patrick’s heart clenches painfully at that, and when he’s not panicking that he’s about to lose Jonny forever, he’ll probably take out this memory and look at it over and over, but for not he folds his arms across his chest and shrugs. “I love you,” he says, because it’s the truth. “So much and for so long that it’s terrifying. I thought it was the Imprint making me do it.”

Jonny’s mouth is a horrible, thin line and Patrick doesn’t know what to say to make this right. 

“I took Jackie’s meds--the ones I told you about--and I thought they were helping but they just made me sick, made me want to crawl inside you and never leave.”

The imagery alone is disgusting, but Jonny’s face if shifting into  _ want _ and Patrick’s breath quickens, he can do this, he needs to do this. 

“They didn’t work. I don’t know why but I know that--I’m glad they did. I never would have known I can have this and it’s me and not just, I thought it was something making me want you, but it’s only ever just been me.”

When Jonny speaks, his voice shaky and overwhelmed, he says, “I hate your parents.”

Patrick balks, presses hard against the wall. “Jonny--”

Jonny climbs out of bed, wincing, and Patrick takes an aborted step forward to help, before he realises what he’s doing. Jonny sighs, and waves him over, but still can’t make his feet move. “Idiot,” Jonny says, and it’s fond.

“Jonny,” Patrick says, when Jonny’s standing a foot away. 

“If I’d known back then how much of a pain in the ass you’d be,” Jonny says, and god, even now, there’s a part of Patrick that just wants to plaster himself to Jonny, to hang on and ride out whatever Jonny wants to do. “I’d still do it again.”

Patrick feels himself shaking as Jonny tugs him in, buries his face in Patrick’s hair. “Jonny.”

“I don’t forgive you,” Jonny tells him seriously. “You fucked shit up for so long.”

Patrick knows. God, he knows, and Jonny could have died crashing into something else and he knows, he knows. 

“But I love you,” Jonny continues, and he pulls back enough to press a thumb to Patrick’s bottom lip. “I love you and I need you and whatever happens, we’ll make it work.”

It’s not a question. “I’m sorry,” Patrick says. 

“I know.” Jonny’s smile is soft and so fucking perfect. “I’ll forgive you one day, when we’ve talked and sorted shit out. Now, I just wanna crawl back into bed.”

“Alright,” Patrick says, disappointed.

Jonny raises his eyebrows. “With you, dumbass.”

“Oh.” Patrick knows there’s a dopey smile on his face but he doesn’t care. “Good.”

  
  
  


**_Gomez, M. L. (2000)._ ** **Imprint Tiers and their Considerations** **_._ **

_It has been well documented that Imprints have varying degrees of intensity- levels of strength, if you will – and impact on the partners. The most common strength, a Tier 3, or T3 bond, is present in 83% of Imprinted partners. T5 bonds account for 13% of documented partners, with T7 bonds coming in at only 2%. Cumulatively, the other tiers bar T10 account for only 1.99%. Tier 10 comes in at just .002%._ _  
_ _A T10 Imprint is extremely rare and has only been documented thrice in known record, though with varying degrees of credibility and a lack of an accurate determination; David and Jonathan, Achilles and Patroclus, and Wang Zhongxian and Pan Zhang. It has been several centuries since the last T10 bond was suspected and Imprint scholars and organisations are divided over whether Tier 10 actually exists. Some argue (_ Heller, Ford and Jahidi) _whether it is historical fantasy rather than scientific fact._

 

 

They have a lockout, another cup under their belt, and a long conversation with Patrick’s parents that ends with far too much shouting and Patrick refusing to talk to them for a month by the time Patrick finds someone who can help. 

Seabs and Duncs don’t know anything about Imprints beyond their own, and Sharpy spends far too much time thinking the Imprint between Patrick and Jonny is the best fucking thing ever to take it seriously, so that leaves Hossa.

He’s Imprinted to his wife, and though Patrick doesn’t know the strength--too personal of a question even for teammates--and he actually listens when Patrick talks. 

It goes like this; Hossa knows a guy who knows a woman who knows Imprints.

Emails are exchanged, people talk, and Patrick and Jonny arrange to fly out to continental Europe during the summer to get a test. 

Now Patrick’s got the envelope in his hand and he doesn’t want to open it. He knows it’s strong. T6 or T7. Jonny thinks the same, though he’s happy to never know. The team have them registered, the lockout ensured their safety at not being traded apart, but there’s still a part of Patrick that needs this, the confirmation if nothing else. 

_ Kane, Patrick and Toews, Jonathan: Imprint Strength. _

There’s a whole load of shit that Patrick doesn’t understand, and then right at the bottom, a small italicized passage. 

_ Readings indicate a strong possibility of a T9+ bond. Confirmation of a T10 cannot be scientifically proven, but is almost certain. _

Oh, fucking shit.

  
  


 

_ (From Chicago University Press) _

#  _ L’illusion de l’empreinte _

#  **_RÉVISION D'UN APPARENT DE NIVEAU 10_ **

**_EDITED BY JACQUES LE FONTAINE_ **

_ 320 pages | © 2015 _

_ Les empreintes de niveau 10  _ _ sont depuis longtemps un sujet de dispute _ _ , et avec la révélation qu’il en existe une avec la Ligue Nationale de Hockey, le monde scientifique a beaucoup de terrain à couvrir, non seulement pour vérifier la gravité du lien,  _ _ mais aussi pour déterminer si laisser un lien de niveau 10 exister est humain - et _ _ si en détruire un est éthique.  _ **_Read More_ **

_ CONTENTS _ __  
_ Préface _ __  
_ Part 1. Stratégie de étage _ __  
_ Part 2. Histoire de l'empreinte _ __  
_ Part 3. David et Jonathan _ __  
_ Part 4. Vérification d'une hormone sur preuve zéro _ __  
_ Part 5. À travers les âges _ __  
_ Part 6. Étiquette moderne de l'empreinte _ __  
_ Part 7. Patrick Kane et Jonathan Toews _ __  
_ Part 8. En défense de la Ligue Nationale de Hockey _ __  
_ Part 9. Existence ou une lente délabrer? _ __  
_ Part 10. Ethique d'un sever _ __  
_ Part 11. L'empreinte doit-elle mourir? _ _  
_ __ Part 12.  Épilogue

_ Remarques _ __  
_ Remerciements _ _  
_ __ Indice

 

The reporter is staring at Jonny, eyebrows raised, and even though she’s talking in French, Patrick can tell she’s asking an irritating question from the burst of annoyance Jonny gets.

“Nobody’s taking my bond from me,” Jonny says, staring into the camera with a defiance that has Patrick’s dick jumping to attention. 

“Relax,” Patrick says, resting a hand at the base of Jonny’s spine. “They’d have to kill one of us first.”

He keeps his tone light, but he knows the implication isn’t lost on the camerawoman, nor will be one anyone watching the program. Dr. Gomez’s paper on Level 10 Imprints--that Jonny and Patrick were only too willing to sit for--details exactly why their bond would sever if one of them did. He shivers when he thinks of it, fear curling deep in his gut at the reaction of losing Jonny. Jonny leans in, whispers, “Not a chance,” in Patrick’s ear, and shuts down the rest of the interview. 

Patrick hopes this is the last one. He’s tired of having to talk about their bond, of having to justify why being on the same team isn’t an unfair advantage, or a disadvantage depending on who’s asking. He’s tired of having to justify why he didn’t stay on meds and let the bond die naturally. 

Jonny keeps a possessive hand at the base of Patrick’s spine as they head out to the parking lot, and Jonny can press him against the hard line of the car. “I love you.”

Patrick’s whole body thrums with the certainty of it, his own feelings in no doubt. “I love you too.”

Jonny’s grin, blinding and sincere, has Patrick diving for his mouth, tugging Jonny down, and drowning in  _ Jonny Jonny Jonny _ .

“We’re gonna get another Cup, right?”

“Let anyone try and keep it from us after this,” Jonny says. “Besides, I promised Jess I’d ask you to make it permanent if we won again.”

Patrick’s eyes widen, his brain taking a while to catch up to what he’s hearing. “Are you being serious?”

There’s a blush rising on Jonny’s cheeks, his fingers flexing nervously in Patrick’s shirt, but he bobs his head quickly. 

“This is a really shit way of asking,” Patrick points out, dragging Jonny in for another kiss because fuck, he can’t just spring that on a guy. “I know I haven’t,” he tries when they break apart. “I know I haven’t been the best about this.”

“Patrick,” Jonny starts, frowning, probably because he can feel the panic in the back of his head. 

“Wait,” Patrick asks, resting his forehead against Jonny’s cheek so he can get everything out that he wants to without having to see emotion on Jonny’s face. “I know I took forever to work out that I want this and that it’s, you know.” Patrick makes a face. God, there’s a reason he doesn’t talk about shit like this. “My parents fucking suck,” he says eventually, making Jonny huff a laugh; Patrick can feel it rumble through his chest. “I think I’m better now.”

“You are,” Jonny says, like a promise. “Patrick, of fucking course you are.”

Patrick smiles into the curve of Jonny’s neck. “I thought this was it. An Imprint is all you’d want.”

“I want everything,” Jonny says, pulling away, sliding a hand around the back of Patrick’s neck to hold him in place. “I want what you want.”

“I want to say yes,” Patrick says, jaw aching with how wide he’s smiling. 

If Patrick thought Jonny’s smile was everything before, that’s nothing to this one, the way it changes his whole face and demeanour.

“But only if we have a Cup,” Patrick reminds him, leaning for a kiss.

“I’ll get right on it,” Jonny promises, swallowing down Patrick’s laugh.

 

(And he does.)  
  


**Author's Note:**

> 1\. french translation; Tier 10 Imprints have long been a subject of contention, and with the revelation that there is one within the National Hockey League, the scientific world has a lot of ground to cover, not only to check the severity of the bond, but also to determine whether letting a Tier 10 bond exist is human-and if destroying one is ethical.  
> CONTENTS  
> Preface  
> Part 1. Tier strategy  
> Part 2. History of the Imprint  
> Part 3. David and Jonathan  
> Part 4. Verification of a hormone on zero proof  
> Part 5. Through the ages  
> Part 6. Modern Imprint label  
> Part 7. Patrick Kane and Jonathan Toews  
> Part 8. In defense of the National Hockey League  
> Part 9. Existence or a slow decay?  
> Part 10. Ethics of a sever  
> Part 11. Does the Impint have to die?  
> Part 12. Epilogue
> 
> 2\. SORRY


End file.
